KINGPIN
by Alextheleo
Summary: Sloane Carmichael is the head of a dynasty— and a witch dynasty at that. She doesn’t play; She doesn’t miss; and she will not let an opportunity to do business with the Originals slip past her. No matter who she has to sacrifice. ORIGINALS X OC POLY-RELATIONSHIP WARNING. No Finn included.
1. One

**WARNING!! **

**This story contains violence, gangs, and most likely consensual sexual content at some point.**

**I do not own TVD.**

**Also, Sloane's face claim is Rihanna.**

**—————**

"I am not in danger, Skyler! I _am_ the danger. A guy opens his door and gets shot and you think that of me? No. I am the one who knocks!" 

—Walter White, _Breaking Bad_

**—————**

**Chapter One:**

**Respect The Hustle**

**—————**

Maybe I could've been a better person.

I mean, it surely wasn't _that_ hard to be a good human being.

You tell little white lies that wouldn't hurt anyone if they found out. You have to be loyal. Smile at people. Be nice and share with the other kids. Sweet. Humble.

_Forgiving._

Sure, 'nice' had never been my default— but, I definitely could've tried harder.

Maybe that's how I ended up in this situation in the first place. Some sort of cosmic retribution bullshit for all of the not-so-great things I've done.

I had to admit— in retrospect, it was all too funny to find Miguel humping my now-naked cleaning lady, Mila, into the back of my brand-new Lexington salon sofa.

And, that's not even the funniest part.

I've been sitting on the corner chair for at least a few minutes now, letting the confirmation stew— and they don't stop the animalistic slapping of skin until they hear my lighter flick a few times in an attempt to light the cigar in my mouth. Wild blue eyes flick towards me, and I see the moment when Miguel realizes just how fucked he is.

_"FUCK!"_ The handsome Miguel exclaims, jumping off of the hunched form of our pretty little maid like it burned him to even touch her in the first place. "_Jesus Christ_— Sloane!"

Covering the one thing that kept our marriage going with one of my nice throw pillows, Miguel falls on his naked ass on what-used-to-be _our_ marble floor.

The maid, on the other hand, must've been in some sort of a pleasured daze for the last few minutes, because she has only just now noticed that I'm here as I take another thick drag of the cigar. Pursing my lips derisively, I frown down at the cigar, double-checking the label.

The tobacco tastes stale.

Rolling my pretty green eyes, I glance over again at my perspiring husband— unimpressed, to say the least.

"Oh, don't mind me. But, _honey," _I Chile in a nonchalant tone, but I can hear the venom starting to seep into my voice, as well as my accent. "I'd hoped for a better show considering what we do. I could have just googled this amateur shit."

Mila struggles to cover her tits whilst hiding behind the couch.

Oddly enough, I'm feeling very 'God catching Adam and Eve after they bit the apple.'

"It's.. It's not what it looks like," Miguel stutters out, clearly already aware of the price for disloyalty.

"You sure? You _really_ sure, baby?" I ask, finally feeling the first vestiges of irritation starting to curl around my gut like a python, "Because, what it looks like is that my pathetic, _stupid _husband is thinking with his _other _motherfucking head, and is spoon-feeding a mole information— _you bitch-ass **doormat.**"_

Mila's large doe eyes widen cartoonishly, her attempting to make a run for it, but she stops pretty quickly when the marble bust in front of her shatters into shards of ivory. The smoking Glock is still in my hand, and I promptly grind out my cigar into the arm of the chair, making a mental note to get it replaced as I stand up gun still pointed at a now-trembling Mila. Miguel looks like he's about to have a heart attack, twice as sweaty as the position I caught him in.

Mila's hands raise as she turns to glare bitterly at me.

"Oh, careful, boo," I quip mockingly, more than ready to never see another trace of this bitch again. "You're lookin' a bit skittish over there. I'm sure a hole in your billboard forehead will help air out some of that anxiety you're feeling."

Miguel's pretty blue eyes continue to the stare down the naked maid's form in shock.

"W-What? _What_ is she talking about?" He asks angrily, and I see the vein underneath the large, ornate tattoo on his neck start to pulse.

I don't bother making eye contact with stupid, instead keeping my gaze and gun trained on Mila.

"Exactly what I said. This bitch got you going deaf? No wonder you were cheating if she's that good on the back of _my goddamn couch,"_ I finish with a slight growl, before a sheepish grin crosses my face. "Oh, well. You were shitty at dusting it, anyway. The Rowans couldn't send any better? Shit. They're scraping the bottom of the barrel if you're their acting talent."

Miguel is now turned away from Mila, large tanned hands running through his thick brown hair anxiously as he whispers expletives. My lovely little mole looks after his muscled back with teary eyes as my finger curls around the trigger again.

"Not gonna use your magic on me, _witch?"_ Mila sneers, obviously showing her Rowan stripes.

_I could've been a good person._

"I use my magic against people, not bitches."

She shuts her eyes tightly, waiting for the bullet— but, it doesn't come. Busting out laughing at her scared face, I see that her face is now _very_ confused. Miguel is used to the way I run things, however, so he knows better. He takes off to try and run for the patio, but I'm on him the second he does, not hesitating as I unload two bullets into his leg.

Yowling in pain as the gunshots ring out, he collapses back onto our white marble floor with a hard resounding smack, and the floor surrounding him starts to stain red.

Rolling my eyes as I hear Mila's naked footsteps making a break for the foyer, I strut over to Miguel groaning on the floor, careful not to get any blood on my red bottoms. Squatting down, I meet his eye level just as he remembers that there is something to fear other than the blistering, fiery pain in his most-likely-shattered knee cap.

For just a moment, I let a bit of the very small amount of softness that I had acquired for Miguel over our four-year marriage. I look down on him— not hurt, but angry and disappointed.

Scoffing, I sigh, "You pretty, pretty bastard. Why'd you have to go and ruin a good thing? You could've been sitting at the top with me, baby."

Miguel's eyes are angry and bitter as they glare back fiercely at me, "I'm not stupid, Sloane. You don't have room at the top for anyone but yourself. You _selfish bitc—!!"_

_It's much easier to be a bad person._

I cut him off by shoving the Glock hard against his cranium, hopefully jogging some brain cells so that he could remember who the fuck he was talking to.

"You wanna _see _a bitch? I'll take your pansy-ass outside right now so everyone can see how I deal with disloyalty. That'd be the _really _bitchy thing to do, right? I'm sure you'd know _all _about being a _bitch,_" I growl, finally starting to snap as my temper flares brightly in my stomach.

The shuffle of heavy footsteps approaches then, and I stand straightening out my knee length black and gold dress as several of my boys show up with— to _no_ one's surprise— the cleaning lady.

"Back so soon?" I ask rhetorically, only getting a loogie on my nice floors that she was supposed to clean today. Darius is the one spelling her still with his magic, but his ringed hand swings down _hard _across Mila's face at the disrespect.

"Real classy," I sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket when it buzzes twice.

Quickly reading the text message, my brow furrows slightly as my other boys drag back Miguel from the patio door. As I re-read the message to verify what it says, I blink pleasantly at the good news.

Waving my hand, I quickly order, "Miguel Castellos is guilty. Mila Jackson is _also_ guilty— but, make sure hers is _loud. _Spectacles need to be made. People need to find out. _Capisce?"_

Darius nods, quickly instructing the others to take the traitorous two away. Mila continues to struggle against the strong magic binding her as Miguel continues to yell blasphemies my way.

My fingers snap almost subconsciously, summoning my driver and door man, Mr. Hutchins, to my side. The black elderly man smiles at me warmly, and I can't help but return it.

"Where to, Mrs. Castellos?" He asks in that familiar gritty voice that I have appreciated since I was a child.

"Oh," I quickly sigh, "It's Ms. Carmichael, again. And, we're going to be taking the plane."

Blinking his aged dark eyes at me, his salt-and-pepper brows furrow briefly before he just nods, probably realizing that must've been what all of the shooting was about.

"Good riddance," he growls out, looking up at the portrait of me and Miguel besides the portraits of my parents, and my parents' parents, and so on. "If I may speak freely, ma'am— I'd say he's a paper man. You can do much better."

A loud laugh leaves my throat, and I pat the older man on the back warmly as we walked out of Carmichael Manor's double-doors.

"Let's move. Mystic Falls is in the middle of nowhere, and we're gonna need to get driving as soon as we hit the runway."

I can see the obvious question in my driver's eyes, but he doesn't ask, and I don't answer. He's a lot like Miguel in that way; he always knows when he doesn't _need _to know. And the text that I received definitely qualifies as the 'boss' level of a need-to-know basis.

Mr. Hutchins opens my limousine door after we descend the manor's lavish entry staircase, and I primly take my seat in the back. Realizing with a groan that I have left a perfectly average Cuban cigar on my burnt furniture, I huff, grabbing another one from the display of them in a champagne glass.

Quickly lighting it as I take a puff to soothe my racing heart, I once again pull out my phone, re-reading the picture attached to the message.

_Message: I am very eager to meet you in Mystic Falls. Signed, E. _

_(Picture) Please join the Mikaelson Family this evening at 7 o'clock for dancing, cocktails and celebration._

_—————_

_Hi! Welcome to KINGPIN, and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I know it's short, but I wanted to make sure this was actually an interesting concept before I poured my heart into it. Therefore, if you'd like me to continue, please let me know._

_I'm insecure lol._

_One more thing: Sloane WILL be paired with someone by the end of this, and it will be a Mikaelson. __I just haven't picked who yet, so let me know who you're rooting for!_

_ Thank you for any likes or comments!_

_—————_


	2. Two

**A/n: Hey, y'all! So, I've decided to go full on poly-Mikaelson relationship for Klaus, Rebekah, Elijah, AND Kol! **

**Sorry, no Finn, only because I'm 100% sure Sloane can't _stand_ broody boys.**

**I haven't seen a lot of well-written poly relationships in here outside of It Happened— Ménage et Trois by SupaaFly, so why not? Not to mention, I kinda feel like Sloane is gonna be the only one who's able to tolerate _all _of their issues. So, LET'S DO THIS THING.**

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"If you don't have a seat at the table, you're probably on the menu."

—Elizabeth Warren

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**Chapter Two:**

**Lions' Den**

**—————**

Third Person POV

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It was a very busy evening at the Mikaelson estate, but Esther Mikaelson was just happy that they were able to successfully plan something in such a short period of time.

After all, orchestrating her children's murders had been difficult to plan just on it's own. To orchestrate a scenario where she could not only have access to the doppelgänger's blood, but where she could also feed her children the linking spell had not been easy without attracting suspicion. Also, it had to be a good ball altogether, otherwise she'd be shaming her family name. But, it had all worked out in the end— and she couldn't be more relieved when she saw the doppelgänger and her pair of brother beaus enter the foyer.

Now all she had to do was wait for her guest: the new head of the Carmichael family.

It had taken her a few tries with modern technology, but Esther had finally been able to reach out to her via 'text message.' With some help from Finn, of course.

But, that was besides the point. What had mattered was the message that she had received in response:

_Maybe._

Esther was unsure who was the head of the family in the present day— she hadn't looked in on them from the Other Side for quite some time— nearly two-hundred years. And then, when she had finally been resurrected after careful planning, Esther Mikaelson had realized her mistake.

_She hadn't secured a bloodline to channel for the ritual._

Of course, that could've been an easy fix by using the Bennett line— but, not only was one of them close with the doppelgänger, who's renowned through history with several versions of her to not keep to her deals. Esther would use it if need be, but the source of power she was hoping to siphon from was _much _stronger than the Bennetts.

The entirety of Mystic Falls was swirling in different groups of gossip, circling drama amongst one another, and Esther briefly wished that her life was that simple.

That anything could be simple again.

—————

Sloane's POV

—————

It is almost always important to come to a party fashionably late.

Not only is it easier to make a decent entrance— but it also carries with it a certain degree of refinement, if you can pull it off right.

Obviously, since I hadn't received my confirmation text and picture confirming Miguel and Mila's ends, I wasn't in a good mood— but, that didn't matter.

I needed to look like I was.

Pulling out my compact mirror from the back seat of the Rolls Royce, I double check my makeup job. As predictable as it was, first impressions _were _important, and so my war paint needed to be immaculate.

Bright green eyes blink back at me in my reflection, but that's all— it's too dark. Not even looking, my magic flips the overhead light on and I can more completely see my work. Thick dark lashes frame my eyes— and I have to brush some of my curls out of my face to see better in the light—but, I can now more clearly see the shimmery gold shades painted on my lids, and the dark brown painted on my full lips.

_Perfect._

I closed the compact with a snap as the Rolls Royce pulled forward towards the elaborate ivory manor, quickly adjusting my gold, high-slit dress to where I can easily step out of the vehicle in these six-inch heels. We pull to a stop just as I'm fluffing my faux-fur coat, and I allow myself a moment to admire the manor.

I'd almost say this is as large of a structure as my home back in Miami. A little niche for my tastes, but I could understand the appeal.

Mr. Hutchins exited the car promptly, moving to open my door as he had for the last twenty-two years of my life with grace, as he greeted, "Ma'am."

I nod my assent back, slipping my hand into his weathered one as he assists me out of the Rolls Royce. After, he hands me my small black and gold clutch with a warm smile on his face.

"I'll be waiting to bring the car back 'round, ma'am."

And with that, he turns to re-enter the vehicle; me in turn facing the manor bustling with voices within. After a quick breath out, I straighten my back and proceed to strut forward— confident, and ready for anything as I approach the large double doors, which are opened for me as I approach.

The room is nearly as golden as my dress in it's opulence. Ball gowns, tuxedos, and suits all blur together as they mingle, voices low as they now see me as I see them.

_Jesus. Am I the only black person here?_

Eh. So be it.

The attendant to my left moves to take my coat, gently assisting me out of the fur as he pleasantly takes it away to store it. Turning back to face the party, I realized there were quite a few more supernatural auras in the room besides vampire than I expected, all of varying degrees of strength.

The citizens of Mystic Falls watch me covertly as I wade through the crowd in an attempt to find the host of this party, and I'm once again reminded how much humans annoy me. There are whispers of gossip— a stranger in a strange land. This was entirely different than Miami, or any other city I had business in. Business didn't tend to be in backwater small towns.

Luckily, I had always thrived under pressure.

I continued my confident strides forward, somewhat used to the glances of lust and equal glances of envy that came from the rest of the people around me.

Finally making my way through to the foyer and passing the crowd around it, I pause when I see that a significant amount of the party within this portion of the room are hovering around a majestic grand staircase. The room is silent when there's the subtle _ding _of someone tapping their glass to catch our attention, and that's when I see _who_ is at the top of the staircase.

A very attractive group of people— no, a _family— _stands there looking down at the crowd, all sporting matching superior glints in their eyes denoting their status.

_The Mikaelsons._

As the crowd zeroes in its attention on the family, I work my way through a analyzing each, trying to figure out which one could be which.

The first one at the end of the stairs is a tall man.

He seems a bit older than me, leaning more towards thirty than twenty and probably the eldest or the second eldest of the bunch. Definitely seemed the rule-following sort. Pretty handsome, but nothing that you couldn't find in any suburban neighborhood mowing a lawn. My gut said he wasn't trustworthy, _at all._

This Mikaelson had the face of a man who would squeal— a weak link.

A mental note.

The second one along the staircase is an absolute _bombshell_ in an emerald dress.

She definitely held a degree of youth to her that the rest of her family did not, so she was obviously the youngest. The Original had high cheekbones, full lips, and beautiful blue eyes— the American dream girl.

Well, if she would be if she wasn't a Viking or whatever the hell the Originals were a thousand years ago. Grandpa hadn't been too specific about those kind of details.

_Hm. Definitely has a "bitchy" vibe to her, so we'll get along just fine. _

Third one up the majestic steps is the one who has tapped his glass to call the room's attention, and I can tell this isn't his first, second, or hundredth rodeo. Sharp jawline, same pronounced cheeks as the girl before, but his _eyes._ Dark. _So _very dark. He had the same wicked glint of sharp intelligence that I could clearly see was a family trait; none of the Mikaelsons were insipid.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly muscular underneath is clean pressed suit. Reminded me of every single Wall Street Wolf I had ever seen: blue blood, excellent at hiding his emotions behind a blank face, and—

"Welcome, thank you for joining us," the third one elegantly greeted the crowd, proving my final description: _excellent liar._ "You know, whenever my mother—," my brain immediately cut off whatever he was about to say, instead narrowing my eyes on the woman the third Original looked to.

_Ah, now **that's** E. Mikaelson, _I hum in my head, smirking slightly when the woman's intelligent blue eyes instantly snap to my form.

Once again, I'm hit by the gut instinct that I shouldn't trust jack shit she says, same as the first man.

She had the aura of a rat, and I understood quickly that I should be on my toes around her.

Continuing to slink around the edges of the party, the other Mikaelsons don't see me as the third one continues to speak to the crowd, allowing me to continue my analysis of the family with only one aware of my doing so.

The fourth one along the stairwell was a different aura entirely.

An odd muddled energy between vampire and werewolf— this one must be Klaus Mikaelson.

I wasn't fantastic at remembering names, but I did remember the rumors and childhood stories of a monstrous hybrid with a temper the size of Kansas. And god, was he a pretty, _pretty_ man.

To my surprise, the Original hybrid was handsome in a blond devilish sort of way. It was obvious that the bombshell from before and him were related, looking almost as if they could be fraternal twins.

His grin held a sort of feral cockiness to it, and his stormy grey eyes were volatile, paranoid, and altogether very striking. Klaus was a tall, lithe man also to my surprise, giving off more of a 'starving artist' vibe rather than a 'sadistic, murderous hybrid.'

_Now this was a man that I could understand and admire._

A man who had amassed a legacy of terror, respect, and power over a thousand years, creating a dynasty of such repute was more than enough to be impressive to me. Hopefully his accomplishments would rub off on me.

Then, there was the fifth one up— and didn't he look _mischievous._

Dark, wicked eyes confidently scanned the room with a manic gleam to them, as if looking for somewhere to start trouble. I continue analyzing his darkly handsome face under his dark brown hair. I could definitely see the resemblance between this one and the third one. Both were remarkably handsome, but it was clear that this one was the rebellious one while the third Mikaelson was clearly more of a rule follower.

_All very interesting characters so far, indeed._

I suddenly pause when I see his dark set of eyes lock on me, a cocky smile spreads across his Puck-like face at seeing my eyes already on him. There's _interest_ in that wicked gaze, quickly eyeing my form in the gold dress lasciviously before meeting my gaze once again in challenge. My brow arches back at him, unamused, and I see a sort of resolution settle on his face, grin as devilish as ever.

_Oh, now I see the 'Klaus' in him. _

And then, of course, there was the lady of the hour at the top of the staircase. My gaze meets hers once again, and she shoots a look towards the back of the room. Glancing, I see that she is looking at a small descending hallway hidden in the back corner of the room. I don't nod, since I have another Original's eyes on me, and I have no idea what their family's teams looked like. Or if _E. Mikaelson _has even informed her children that she'd invited a Carmichael in the first place.

And then, the room shifts, and I realize that I have completely ignored whatever was being announced in the first place whilst I've been looking at the impressive family.

People beginning moving to one another, pairing off, and I quickly realize that I need to migrate elsewhere if I don't want to be caught in a ballroom blitz.

My heel steps off towards the bar area, determined to wait there until I actually _see _E. Mikaelson walking towards the hidden-ish hallway. I absolutely hate to be kept waiting without a drink in my hand, and if she wasn't heading down from her perch now, I'd rather wait at the bar.

Suddenly there's a grip on my wrist, and I have to fight not to accidentally shoot off my magic at the rude person reflexively.

Finding myself spun back around in the other direction, lo and behold, the mischievous Mikaelson has somehow made his way down here in record speed.

His dark eyes are much more interesting to see up close, almost appearing like to black holes that threatened to swallow you whole. This Mikaelson had a bonafide predator's gaze.

My own glare sharpens at his hand on my wrist before glaring up at the tall Original, himself. He smirks even more widely at my angry look, as if it amuses him, and bent down properly to kiss the back of my hand in greeting.

"Kol Mikaelson," the Original introduces, intrigued gleam in his eye when he sees that I'm unaffected by his act of gallantry.

"Didn't ask," I reply simply, shaking his hand off my wrist and promptly turning back to walk to the bar as more people move to the makeshift dance floor appearing in the center of the room.

Kol proceeds to take my dismissal as "continue walking next to me," chuckling slightly when I roll my green eyes at his childishness.

"Is that German? Swedish?" he soothed charmingly with his pleasing British accent, and I nearly scoff at his surprisingly quick wit.

"Very funny. But, I'm busy right now. Go ask one of these little girls giving you puppy dog eyes."

"I'm not a dog person," is his smooth reply, and this time I can't fight the slight smile it brings on my face as he steps in front of me once again. "Besides, it'd be a waste to wear that lovely gold number and not show it off. Dance with me, _'Didn't Ask?'"_

Glancing up at E. Mikaelson once again behind his head, I nonverbally ask what she'd like me to do. I see the slightest of nods from the older woman's blond head, and quickly snap my gaze back to Kol before he can get suspicious.

"Aren't I a bit old for you?" I ask, challenging him first before giving in without telling him I know who he is. It's obvious that _that's _what he likes.

"I doubt that, darling," Kol replies cryptically with a knowing smile, "But, I'm sure you know that already, _Carmichael_."

My eyes immediately narrow, trying to figure out how much he knows, or if the older Mikaelson woman even has him involved in all of this. If not, then I needed to keep up the charade for as long as humanly possible.

I finally give in, "Fine. But, my name is Sloane."

"_Sloane,"_ Kol repeats in a way that sends shivers down my spine, and I'm reminded once again that accents are my _weakness._

"What a _pretty_ thing you are, Sloane."

—————

**_A/n: Hey guys! Sorry this took a minute, but my inspiration has been all over the place lately! Also, that's my apology for not opening my other books yet, but I promise it'll be soon. Thanks for the comments, favs, and follows._**

**_—————_**


	3. Three

"I have licked the fire and danced in the ashes of every bridge I've ever burned. I fear no hell from you."  


—Nicole Lyons

**—————**

**Chapter Three:**

**Business As Usual**

**—————**

Sloane's POV

—————

Well, it seems as though— whether I like it or not— I _do _have something to entertain me while I wait for E to descend from her perch.

Judging by her slight nod of acquiescence when I looked up at her and Kol's playful hint of my last name, the witch was _very_ concerned about my being pulled to the dance floor by her boy. She was giving me more than enough looks to say 'keep quiet' as we lined up with the rest of the couples.

The youngers must not be aware, then.

How _interesting._

Kol's dark, penetrating gaze is heavy on me as we stand across from one another and my eyes inadvertently snap away from the intensity of it, instead looking at who else was lined up to do this stupid line dance. I quickly spot several of the Mikaelsons from the line-up within the crowd with partners of their own, all effectively not noticing me with Kol from what I could tell.

_Must be drama elsewhere to focus on, otherwise they'd notice me just as Kol did._

Well, the dress was serving it's purpose just fine.

Clearly it had at least drawn the attention of some of its intended targets: E and Kol. Now I had much more of a layout of the situation and where I could stand to benefit when it came to my business proposition. For whatever reason, E didn't want the rest of her family aware of our dealings, and _that_ was leverage.

The music starts, some Ed Sheeran blaring in the background, and I attempt to follow the women besides me's steps, unsure of quite how to do this specific waltz. Kol must've noticed my concentration.

As our palms meet and he deftly steps to my right side, Kol expertly guides my hands into his large, cooler pair as he guides our steps forward to the beat.

"I'm surprised someone of your pedigree doesn't know this already," he teases wickedly, trying to get a rise out of me as his hand grazes mind delicately.

"Oddly enough, I don't usually attend events with 200 year-old dance routines in the itinerary," I brusquely reply, getting tired of all the political speak and wanting him to get to the damn point.

He seems amused at my blunt tone, dark earthy eyes gleaming as a beat of silence takes us.

Quickly turning us to face the other couple across, we begin taking steps forward to the soft beat when Kol quips, "Excellent point— which brings me to mine. What brings a young, powerful little witch like yourself to this little nowhere town?"

In that moment, I see who is also stepping opposite us, who must've been behind us the entire time— Klaus Mikaelson. His stormy blue eyes were sharply on mine as we passed each other, bright with suspicion and the paranoia I've heard so much about.

_Lovely. Vampire hearing is still as annoying as ever._

I arch my brow at the Mikaelson, easily slipping into my lie as I answer, "You, Mikaelsons, are like ghost stories at my house. I grew up hearing tales about these monstrous vampires who ravaged nations and pillaged villages. Wanted to see the legends in action once I heard a rumor that you were making this backwater town your home."

Kol hums lowly, the deep rumbling sound altogether very pleasant.

"How intriguing. Just being innocent and curious to see the history exhibit, then?" He asks, unconvinced.

We turn back to the right, now opposite of where we had been stepping to the beat before, and I see Klaus glaring at me between glances at his date from our old position. He didn't seem to believe me either, but I doubted I'd _die_ from it, considering I had no ill will towards them.

If I had come here with more of an agenda than my offer, _then _I'd have something to worry about.

At worst, if they somehow managed to get a hold of me, I'd be tortured for a bit until they could verify my claims— but, that was nothing. Nothing in the face of a good business transaction.

"No, Kol," I reply quietly, not wanting any extra, _non-supernatural _ears listening in to our conversation, "I'm not innocent in anything, ever. But, I'm not here for any kind of trouble, either. Just seeing the might of the Mikaelsons since you've all been out-of-commission for a couple centuries. Family vacation, I assume?"

_Not my best deflection, but we tried._

A scoff leaves the handsome man in a tux as he spins me into the classic waltz position, guiding us into the steps along to this increasingly-slow song. _God, I hate dancing._

"Something like that," Kol gives noncommittally, mysterious grin still in place, and promising all sorts of dark things if I happened to be lying.

I guess I have passed whatever initial test this baby interrogation was supposed to prove, but it's clear that he doesn't believe my reasons for being here, leaving us to dance in silence for a few moments.

Oh, well. Poor baby.

A glance over Kol's broad shoulder reveals the lovely Mikaelson in her emerald green dress, already having her sharp blue gaze on me as she looks over the shoulder of her partner.

_Ooh, she knows for sure that I was lying. Guess that part of the stories was true. _

She's glaring at me _awful_ nasty, chin raised in perceived superiority as the Original tears me down with just her eyes.

How mean.

But, I'll be the first to admit that she looks absolutely stunning when she's suspicious of someone. The Original woman's gaze is deep, stubborn, and intuitive as we catch eyes for this brief moment, as if she's attempting to suss out why I'm here just by looking at me. It's awfully cute, and I can't help it when my lips tug up slightly at the sharpness of her glower.

_What can I say?_ I like mean girls.

Kol's grip tightens slightly on my hand, snatching my attention away from the pretty blonde and back onto his mischievous self.

"It's rude to look at my sister like that while you're dancing with me," he sighs, but his dark eyes are clearly flashing me a warning to leave the blonde alone, making a giggle leave my mouth.

"Who says I'm polite?" I ask with a challenging raise of my brow without thinking, and I see another spike of amusement, as well as some anger, flash through him at the answer.

I needed to be more careful with my mouth.

There was no need to make the Originals all pissy thinking I'm going to ruin their baby sister.

"Relax," I sigh again with a soft pat on his broad shoulder, looking him deep in his slightly-manic dark eyes as I say, "I'm not here to ruin your sister's innocence, or whatever. This is an educational field trip. See where you guys are staying, ask what your plans are for this place, make sure that our business all stays professional, etc."

"Ah. Tell _him_ that, would you?" is all he replies, and it's with a hefty amount of sarcasm, but I can't respond because I'm suddenly spun away from him.

I quickly decide to never dance the waltz again, let alone any kind of ballroom dancing as I'm spun into the firm, controlled arms of another. I'm quickly positioned professionally back into the proper waltzing position, sighing at my bad luck when I'm met with a matching pair of dark eyes.

"Oh, yes," the 'moral' looking Mikaelson greets formally, a new type of British accent rolling down my spine like a blanket. "Please do explain your appearance here. I'm not sure exactly how Kol knows you, but I do know that _I_ do not recognize you."

That's a low-level threat if I've ever heard one.

The eloquence with which this Mikaelson spoke demoted what I had thought at first to be true: _this one is the politician._

"Nice to meet you, I'm Sloane," I greet with a blasé tone, "Witch, bitch, misanthropist, and eternal hater of small talk. Also, not here to kill your family."

The Original analyzes me with dark eyes, and for a moment, I can definitely see how him and the blonde are related. There's a certain intelligence within all of the Mikaelsons I've met so far, and this one is no exception.

"You'll have to excuse me for not believing you," he quickly surmises, and although I don't blame him, it's still a bit annoying to be accused of illicit activities when I'm not _actually _committing any.

His oak brown eyes sharpen, and his light grip on the waist of my gold dress tightens significantly as he leans in close.

"However, I will inform you that if I see any indication that you are planning something to derail this evening, I will take it upon myself to complete eviscerate you and send the pieces back to your family in a first-class box."

Shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly since I have nothing to hide that they can find out, I now see that Klaus has his _full_ suspicious attention on me, completely ignoring the new woman in his arms. I feel bad for the older woman. She looks like she's really excited to be dancing with such a handsome young man, and he's too busy probably mentally-prepping my murder to actually show her a good time.

Now, that's rude.

"I don't have anything to hide, Mikaelsons," I reply, knowing that them, and a few other vampires in this group were listening to my every word. "If I wanted to come in and start trouble, I would've just been rude from the get-go and not danced with Kol."

_True._

And I check to see if my hypothesis is correct, spotting the blonde dancing with a black-haired vampire, with a deep furrow pronounced between her brows as we continued to waltz.

_So, she **can** actually tell when I'm lying._

_All very important information._

"So," I start after a couple steps, definitely not content with awkward silence for the rest of this stupid dance. "What's your opinion on the dichotomy of good and evil, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Hearing multiple scoffs ring out amongst the couples, I roll my eyes at the now barely smiling Elijah. I briefly wondered how many metal rods he shoved up his ass to make him _so_ serious.

"I'm unsure if I have any that I'd be willing to share," the Original replied, still looking down at me with a sort of 'hard ball' gleam in his eye.

Instead of rolling my eyes at the continued suspiciousness, I pat him on his shoulder consolingly.

"Well, that's fine. I happen to think that 'good' and 'bad' are all dependent on what your perspective is. Every sin is a reasonable sin to commit in one scenario or another. No heroes, no villains. Just people all trying to make it big— and I happen to be one of them. I need to learn from the greats to earn the keys to the castle. How better to learn than to see history in person?"

His dark, swirling eyes were increasingly staring down mine as the dance begins to slowed to a stop; sharp, strong jaw locked tight.

_Ooh, did he like me? _

He definitely thought I was pretty— the way he hadn't blinked in the last two minutes was more than enough to clue me in. A flirtatious smile works it's way onto my cheeks, very flattered that such an _esteemed_ man was even distracted by my looks. Maybe we could play another time.

I give him a mock curtesy, intent on going to get a shot of something strong before I had to deal with the Original Witch, when there's a strong, large grip on my wrist. The rough touch of skin along the soft side of my wrist is more than enough to get my heart pumping as I snap my eyes back to the elder Mikaelson.

"If you do not wish to know why there's such a reputation attached to our name, I suggest you watch your step. My name is Elijah Mikaelson. It would do you well to remember that."

I raise an arched brow at the threat, "A powerful name for a powerful man. How fitting."

I was not amused that I was being treated like a traitor without having done any treachery, but he just bows and dissipates into the crowd of cheap prom dresses.

_Elijah. _

Didn't that mean 'the Lord is my God?'

I thought they were Vikings.

Oh, well.

No time to waste as I spot the Original Witch meandering over towards their hallway, several of her children watching on with suspicious eyes. Such is the way of family. I see the taller, and most likely older Mikaelson whom I had noticed on the stairwell first follow shortly after, and take that as my que to follow.

Once again however, I find myself gripped tightly and shoved within a dark servant's quarters. Lightly stumbling on my red bottom heels, I spin around to glare at whoever has absconded with me this time.

_I have shit to do, and I keep getting dragged into conversations with pretty monsters._

Lo and behold, there is Klaus Mikaelson in all his wrathful glory.

I can see every violent thought that crosses his stormy blue gaze; can practically hear every paranoid scenario he has in that beautiful blond head of his. His demeanor is overall relaxed, but the adorable smirk he had before is long gone. Here was a look that promised all _sorts_ of naughty things— namely, homicide.

"Now, let's not mince words. Would you like to inform me of your true intentions for my family now, or can I start the torture?" He asks, as if he's asking me to choose ice cream flavors.

_Ooh, now **here's** a boss._

"_Kinky," _I comment with a scoff, smile spreading across my face at the challenge however. "But, if you want the truth all you had to do was ask."

His own thick brows raise slightly, as if a bit surprised, but his eyes don't move at all, indicating that he still doesn't trust shit I have to say.

"Oh?"

"Mhm," I hum with a soft nod, turning to face the rest of the empty servant's quarters. My eyes catch specifically on the fire radiating from the fireplace, giving the room a warm glow.

"I can be real sweet when I wanna be, Klaus. And lucky for you, I have a whole lot to be sweet on you for," I sigh suggestively, smiling when his eyes flicker— a hint of _something_ behind that iron exterior, "So, I'll tell you exactly why I'm here. I want an alliance. Well, to be specific, I want the Carmichaels and Mikaelsons to be able to rule their respective domains side by side."

Klaus looks at me like I'm a complete moron.

"You want the Original family to assist your little backwater witch family? Isn't that adorable?"

My green eyes narrow sharply, spinning back to face the cocky Original hybrid with a decidedly blank face. Laughter begins to bubble out in soft giggles from my disbelieving mouth, scoffing at how disrespectful he's being.

Attitude starts to get the better of me.

"You know, you've got a really distracting mouth, but _everything _you've said thus far is a turn-off," I snidely comment with another round of chuckles, "How unfortunate. I'll just take my backwater witch self to the exit, then."

Stepping to brush past him, I can't stop the small intake of breath in my nose as he slams his fist through the wall, arm-barring me from exiting as wood splinters fly.

"We are _not_ done talking," he growls lowly in that hot British accent of his.

Some might judge me for what I said next, but who could blame me? Who said I couldn't mix business and pleasure? Especially for a mean man who's _this _nice to look at.

I smirk at him, challenge bright in my green gaze, thoroughly excited to step into the ring with someone of equal stature.

"You gonna hurt me, Klaus? Is that what you wanna do to me?"

There's a different sort of energy now: intense, immediate, and fiery. A sort of tangible anger that I found in his eyes that I often saw in mine. I honestly couldn't tell by his face what he was going to do, or if we were going to be fighting each other right here and now. Electricity crackles in his angry gaze, and I find myself very attracted— once again outlining my habit of picking toxic people.

Deep amber and gold spills into the pools of blue, veins descending from his eyes as his jaw tightened.

_How can someone so mad, look so gorgeous?_

Suddenly, the servant's quarters opened, two teens stumbling on each other as they made out in their shitty prom outfits. I have to stifle a laugh at the blank look on Klaus' face— he was clearly done with this evening.

"_Get out!" _He snaps loudly, and the teens jump off each other as if a repel switch had been flipped.

Scoffing, I brush passed Klaus with a bump on his shoulder on my way, aware that for some reason the Mikaelsons were all on their best behavior tonight. They didn't even _sound_ like the monsters my Mom used to talk about before bed.

_Too bad. I liked the monsters._

And with that, I entered the hidden hallway, ready to see whatever the hell E. Mikaelson was offering.

—————

**A/n: Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter. Have a good one, and thanks for all the comments and favorites.**

**—————**


	4. Four

"The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who's going to stop me."

—Ayn Rand

**—————**

**Chapter Four:**

**Do I Look 'Nice' To You?**

**—————**

Third Person POV:

—————

Esther was moving about the room quickly, preparing for her two guests to arrive.

Fliting across the room, she quickly spelled her sage and began burning it, growing eager when she heard a pair of heels clacking down the corridor.

The head of the Carmichaels didn't bother with knocking, the double doors slamming open with magical energy before her.

Finn's eyes snapped over to the door, having expected the Gilbert doppelgänger to arrive first.

He did not know much about the Carmichaels, hardly remembering the man he knew by that name over a thousand years ago— but, he could see some of the similarities between that man and the woman that stood before him now.

Bright green eyes had been a trait he had noted in the first, and a small part of him was happy to see something so reminiscent of his family's human days. Gorgeous bronzed skin showed brilliantly in the racy gold dress, and Finn was grateful for once for his vampire status, because he swore he felt a flush coming on at seeing so much of her skin.

The Carmichael was stunning, to say the least— but the look in her eyes was everything cold and calculated that he had seen in both Klaus' and Elijah's gazes.

_She was dangerous._

"Let me guess," the Carmichael head started, cocking her hip out as she went straight for the alcohol, pouring herself a glass, "Your other kids dunno what's going down tonight, right? This one your favorite, or something?"

Sloane, herself, was unamused.

This had been a continuous bust since she had walked through the lavish doors of this gold-painted shit fest, and she had no doubt in her mind now that E. Mikaelson was just as shady as her gut told her. But, might as well see what she wants.

Finn's gaze narrowed, his continued hate of the latest generation growing all the more heated by the casual way the woman spoke to his mother.

"You will _not_ speak to her that way—," he was cut off by a placating wave from his mother.

Esther wanted to keep this encounter as peaceful as possible, not wanting to use her trump card against the young witch until when it was absolutely necessary. Accessing the bloodline was much easier with a willing family member.

"It's alright, Finn," Esther corrected, noting the way the Carmichael's signature green eyes narrowed sharply at the slight from her son. "It's for my children's benefit that they do not know of our dealings. The state of nature must be corrected."

There was a sudden coldness in Sloane's emerald gaze as she pasted on a blank face, stiffening at the familiar words.

"Is that so?" The young witch asked rhetorically, really looking at the Original Witch as she took a sip of her drink.

_Shifty._

There was a beat or two of awkward silence before there was a timid knock at the door.

"That'll be the girl," the Original Witch commented cryptically, pissing off Sloane all the more. E hadn't mentioned _anything_ about someone else being involved.

Imagine the Carmichael witch's surprise when the door was opened to reveal a pretty teen in a rental prom dress. She couldn't be more than eighteen, all tanned skin and big brown puppy eyes. The girl looked like an innocent— but, Sloane quickly acknowledged that she must not be _that _innocent if she's in this room right now.

Elena Gilbert, the doppelgänger, had arrived— and was frankly, very nervous.

Not only had she taken Damon out of the picture by asking Stefan to snap his neck— but, it was looking like the raven-haired vampire might've been right.

There was a beautiful woman whom she'd never seen before, Finn Mikaelson, and the Original Witch in the room— only two of whom she had actually expected to be down here. The strange woman scoffed, a few dark chuckles leaving her full lips as she turned to Esther with obvious disbelief in her green eyes.

_"Wow,"_ Sloane sneered with a pretty smile, laughing at the unprofessionalism of it all, "Y'all are using kids now?" the witch strutted right up in front of Esther's face, her disdain leaking through the menace in her eyes, "My, have the Mikaelsons fallen _far."_

Esther's blue gaze hardened angrily as Elena watched on in shock.

_Who was this woman?_

"Nah," Sloane finally answered, not caring to stay for another second in Mikaelson company.

_This was pathetic. _

"I came here to talk to a boss, not some wannabe witch who _clearly_ can't clean up her own messes," the Carmichael finished with a soft laugh.

With that, the Carmichael witch turned, intent to walk out — when the double doors slammed shut, a rush of magical energy filling the room as Sloane rolled her eyes.

Sloane was _really_ starting to get pissed off at this woman's obvious entitlement— something she had obviously passed down to her kids.

Turning slowly, and realizing that the human teen is safely next to her; Sloane's green eyes flashed an angry, brilliant scarlet before she took a deep inhale, closing her eyes so that she could calm down.

Esther froze at the sudden change, unsure what that meant for her, or what it meant for the young witch, herself.

Sighing, Sloane opened her eyes once again to reveal green irises before blandly stating, "Either you open that door, or I do it myself. You know which one is gonna hurt more."

Esther quickly moved to use her ace in the hole.

"And have you lose your magic, forever?" The Original Witch asked, pointedly glaring at the disrespectful baby witch.

Esther hadn't been completely idle towards the Carmichaels whilst on the Other Side, she had managed to secure a promise from the deceased head of the family about two-hundred years prior.

That if his heir did not assist the Original Witch in her quest to correct the mistake that was vampirism— they would no longer have access to their ancestral magic. They would abandon this little witch like she was nothing, and Esther knew in her bones that the promise still rang true.

Sloane scoffed, setting her glass on the table roughly as an angry smile spread across her pretty bronzed cheeks.

"That's real cute, Mikaelson. Is that a threat?"

Esther's eyes narrowed at the confidence in the young witch's eyes, making the Carmichael actually laugh at her.

"Oh? You thought I was scared of _you? _The bitch that died a thousand years ago and only just _now_ found a way to come back? God, the Mikaelsons have become a fucking joke."

With that, Sloane unleashed a large _red _blast of energy forward from her hand, blasting the double-sided doors open and completely shattering Esther's hold on it. Said Original Witch landed to her knees as if a blow had knocked the wind out of her, clutching her stomach.

"I recommend you get the hell out of here while you still can, Girl Scout," Sloane stated to Elena, giving her a look that sent chills up the doppelgänger's spine.

Then, she turned out into the hallway, leaving a gasping Esther in the arms of Finn as he helped her off the floor.

Elena watched on with wild brown eyes, unsure as to what to do now. She wanted the Mikaelsons gone, but after seeing the Original Witch get her ass handed to her, the doppelgänger wasn't too sure.

Finn was livid.

That little bitch witch had hurt his darling mother— somehow got one of the most powerful witches in existence on her knees. How was this even possible? Finn hadn't seen magic that powerful, ever— or even magic that had a color to its aura. This was unlike anything he had ever encountered.

And Esther— well, she was _very_ concerned.

She hadn't thought it possible— it having been something of myth even in her time— and yet, _there it was._

There was only one thing in the universe that had ever been rumored to have such power, and it came at much greater sacrifice then what Esther had endured to ensure her children's longevity.

Esther had created a significant problem by not paying closer attention to the Carmichael family.

Now, she doubted that there was anyone else left.

—————

Elijah's POV

—————

The evening thus far had been one spectacular mess.

Not necessarily the decor, or his siblings— although he was certain that they were most likely starting trouble elsewhere. No, his problem was one that he had never thought _would_ be a problem in his years.

His own mother.

It hurt him so to be suspicious of someone that he shouldn't have had to suspect, but the years had made him cautious, and nothing was making logical sense. Niklaus kills her, and suddenly she had returned with a loving and gracious attitude— the way he used to know her.

Elijah wanted it to be true, he wanted it more than anything.

But, he was still uncertain— and the Original hated it.

Asking Elena Gilbert what was going on between her and his mother had done nothing to console him, instead making him all the more irritated. He had heard her heart skip a beat, but he'd need to ask again to know for sure whether or not that was her tell.

And then, there was Sloane.

The woman herself was an enigma, and while that was frustrating enough on it's own— it was all the more frustrating that Kol, who'd been locked up for a _hundred years,_ had somehow recognized her. Elijah couldn't decipher her intentions, but he was aware that she was to meet with his mother and Elena later on.

What Elijah didn't want to admit to himself was that he hardly remembered their conversation.

Sloane was absolutely ethereal, and Elijah had once again been reminded during that dance just how distracted he could be by a lovely face.

Although, she wasn't just lovely. The witch had sultry green eyes that hid many things; a dangerous, cold edge in her gaze that sent a thrill up his spine. The elder Mikaelson was not an easily intimidated man, and he wouldn't describe what he felt for Sloane as intimidation either. But, admitting that would be admitting defeat to a long-held flaw of Elijah Mikaelson's— and, he definitely couldn't afford to allow himself to dwell on that now, with everything happening.

And so, Elijah waited. He waited outside that hidden corridor where both Elena and Sloane had disappeared to. And he had only needed to wait briefly for someone to exit the hall.

Sloane strutted out of the hall angrily, not even noticing Elijah's appearance as she sped-walked away from the door.

Sloane's curves had been the second thing he had noticed about her earlier this evening. That gold dress hung to her every move, every shape, and on anyone else it would've been gaudy. Sloane, however, almost carried her _own _radiance; as if the dress was only meant to enhance the gem that was already there. Her green eyes were bright with anger, brows set in a firm line as she muttered angrily to herself in another language.

Elijah couldn't help but feel a swell of something in his chest at seeing such righteous anger painted on such a lovely portrait.

He quickly found step beside the young woman, placing her arm in the apex of his elbow and guiding her away from the exit. He's unsurprised when those fiery emeralds snap to pierce his own gaze.

"Not the time, gorgeous. I ain't in the mood," the witch growled lowly, sending vibrations down the Mikaelson's strong arm and right into his spine.

He halted their walk, really looking Sloane in the eye before smoothly lying, "I've been exceptionally rude to you this evening without cause. Please allow me to correct my rude behavior. We have some stronger beverages in the study."

Sloane eyed him sharply, brows pressing tightly together as she really focused on him, searching for any sign of ill intent. After a moment or two, she finally sighed.

"A gentleman," she comments to no one in particular, the fire starting to dim in her gaze slightly as she looked at the Original with interest. She suddenly starts looking Elijah up and down suggestively before a small smirk spread across her face.

"You don't have a date waiting up for you? After all, I'd never wanna eat off another woman's plate," she teased seductively, and Elijah was suddenly aware of just how close locking arms had drawn them.

"No," the Original promptly answered, trying not to look down as the woman licked her lips.

The witch didn't bother doing the same, making it obvious that she was watching his lips when he spoke.

"That's a damn shame. Thousand years and no one's snatched you up yet," Sloane hummed.

Sloane was a very distracting woman.

She then slowly removes her arm from his, making Elijah's thick brows raise in confusion.

_What was she doing?_

Suddenly, a warm hand is back in the same position as it was earlier this evening: on his broad shoulder. That warmness continued to spread through his bones like a disease, and he found it difficult to look anywhere other than the enigma as she leaned in close to him.

There's a tug on his bow tie, pulling him further down to her level.

As she moved ever closer to his ears, Sloane whispered, "You've been _such_ a gentleman— but, I can't stay tonight. I'll give you a hint, though."

_What was wrong with him?_

Elijah Mikaelson had seen many beautiful women in his lifetime, all varying amounts of aggressive and shy. He had been the victim of his fair share of unsolicited flirting: bold and bashful alike.

So why was he reacting like this to _her?_

She smelled like cinnamon and blood, and he felt his mouth watering at how close she was. He could see the small vein pulsing underneath her perfect bronzed skin, and all he could do was sink into the smell. It was _addictive._

"You need to keep a closer eye on your mama, cutie," Sloane whispered, making the Mikaelson abruptly stiffen in shock.

_Confirmation? Why?_

All questions were forgotten as another wave of cinnamon hit his nose, her now in front of him, nose-to-nose.

Sloane had the sort of cocky smile you find on most winner's faces, smirking at the stunned Mikaelson before allowing her dark lips to brush his cheek, subsequently releasing his tie from her grasp.

Elijah unconsciously stood back up straight in surprise at the woman's forwardness, but all he sees in her emerald green gaze is a generally pleased glint— no embarrassment or shyness to be seen.

The woman then swiveled on her heels, turning back to facing the exit as she grabbed her phone out of her clutch. A couple clicks later, and she places the Blackberry back in with a renewed smile, clearly having read good news.

"See you around, _Elijah,"_ Sloane purrs, strutting off towards the doors and leaving a certain Original not only stunned, but breathless.

_Very distracting._

—————

Sloane's POV

—————

I was exhausted, but I couldn't stop the grin on my face.

Of course, I was still pissed at what that bitch witch had tried to pull— but, that would do nothing to subdue my good mood.

Not only had I got to mess around with the 'good boy' Mikaelson, but I had received the message I had been waiting for. Tugging my fur over my shoulder, I quickly re-open my email as Mr. Hutchins reappears around the corner with the Rolls Royce.

The chilled air is fitting as I look at the video of the street camera view of a gas station.

Pressing play, I watch as Mila and Miguel are shoved out of an unmarked van, black bags over their heads. They're tossed in front of the gas station, wiggling in silence— and I, not for the first time, _wish _these stupid things had audio.

The unmarked van pulls out into the street as the naked couple struggle to stand, significantly bloodied as they shakily stand on their feet, silently shouting for help.

Unluckily for them, I had closed that gas station months ago after one of my business proposals went south.

They don't even see the unmarked car streak back down the street in the opposite direction, only feel a hail of bullets destroying the entire station front and their own bodies.

I watch as they become riddled with holes on the static-y tv, and I make a mental note to get this on a DVD or something.

_Perfect._

Mr. Hutchins exits the driver's side door with a withered, warm smile.

"Good evening, ma'am. Did you have a fun evening?" he greets in his low, burly voice, opening my door for me as I smile back at the old sap.

"Not really, but don't worry. Tomorrow will be _much _better," I reply coldly, entering the backseat of the Rolls Royce after closing my phone.

Elijah Mikaelson had spared himself and his siblings by apologizing this evening, whether he knew it or not.

However, his mother was nowhere near being in my good graces.

**—————**

**A/n: I am on a roll lately! Hope you all enjoyed the latest chapter, and thank you for the reviews. They're super nice and perfectly distracting me from the mess outside haha.**

**—————**


	5. Five

"I don't like violence, Tom. I'm a business man. Blood is expensive."

—Soliozzo

—————

**Chapter Five:**

**Payback**

—————

Sloane's POV

—————

I sat in the Mystic Grill bar for a good moment with a glass of Hennessy in hand, overdressed in my gold gown amongst the plaid and jean-coated crowd, really thinking over the entire Mikaelson situation.

_How was it that this run-down place had Henny and the Mikaelson Manor didn't?_

Nuance.

Obviously, the Original Witch was up to something real shady, that much was clear. She obviously couldn't be allowed to continue living easily after threatening me.

So, I would just derail whatever vicious plans she had for her kiddos.

The problem was: _What was she planning?_

I had let my temper get the better of me before I could truly investigate what Mama Original was up to, so I'd have to figure it out the hard way.

Swirling the glass once again, I take a heady sip as I recall our conversation— and in particular, I recall the contents of the threat. She had said something along the lines of me losing access to my magic if I pushed her, so she clearly wasn't aware of what all had happened in the last hundred years, because my magic _can't _be cut off.

That means that she believed that I still had something to do with those rotting witch corpses that happened to share my name. Also meaning that whatever she was planning to do involved accessing my bloodline, and that was calling on some superior magic.

The kind that'll kill something _strong._

So, she must be trying to actually _kill_ her kids— wasn't trying to change or fix them.

_The girl._

Why was she even there?

Human sacrifice was obviously a huge bolster of magic, but that definitely required more than one human body.

_Unless she wasn't just a human._

The only thing that came to mind then was a small list of supernatural occurrences that would give a major binder to whatever spell the witch was planning.

Obviously, I hadn't sensed anything extremely supernatural about her aura at all, so that left only one option: Doppelgänger.

Well, then, if she's trying to do this, she'd need a bloodline ready in case I didn't work out. E was under heavy suspicion already by at least one of her kids, so it's not like she could reach out much further from Mystic Falls with ease.

_That meant there had to be some strong witches in this town. _

Hm. Well, it had to be an old family if she was looking for strength close to my bloodline— therefore, the last name would be recognizable if I looked.

Pulling back out my blackberry from its spot on top of my fur coat that had been laid on the seat besides me, I quickly shoot off a text to my right hand, Darius, to look into it. He'd be quick and efficient enough for me to stop whatever this Original Bitch had planned, most likely getting me the information by morning.

Sighing, I tossed the phone back on my fur, thoroughly exhausted but nowhere near buzzed enough to sleep. _Fuck jet lag._

It's late in the small town of Mystic Falls, and everyone else was presumably at the ball outside of these few employees. It's nice, and it's quiet, but people are definitely starting to come in from the party, tuxedos and dresses slowly promenading in over the last hour.

In particular, I had noticed a handsome blond boy, probably no older than seventeen, sitting on the other end of the long wooden bar. Baby blue eyes looked like they were pained and frustrated, and I quickly realized that it was because his wrist was fucked up.

And by that, I mean that it was wrapped up thickly in gauze and plastic framing.

Furrowing my brows in curiosity, I gesture to the boy's wrist with my eyes when his gaze meets mine.

"That's gotta hurt. You lose a fight?" I ask with a brow raise, relieved for once that he was _actually_ a normal kid.

The teen gives me an awkward, but warm smile, happy with my show of concern.

"Something like that," he politely replies back, eyes genuine, and I feel a smile working on my face.

_He's like a puppy._

Smiling at the polite young man, I offer, "What if I told you I could fix it— right now, free of charge?"

There's a scoff that leaves the boy's mouth, and he prepares to answer when a hand smacks against the wood beside him, snapping him out of whatever he was about to say. Glancing up, my grin broadens wolfishly when I realize that it's the Baby Original.

Her icy blue eyes were dark on mine, anger bright in her gaze, and it oddly enough makes me want to smile more. She looked pretty when she was mad.

"He'd say, 'move along.' So, why don't you?" The Original answers for him, already wearing the pants in _that_ relationship.

_Mean._

A soft chuckle leaves my mouth as I give her an obvious once over, finally just watching her pretty pink lips.

"No need to be jealous, gorgeous. You're much more my type, anyway," I comment with another playful sip of my Hennessy, enjoying the way she stiffened and glared even more fiercely at me.

However, I'm not trying to deal with any more angry Originals tonight, so I turn my gaze forward again, looking away from them and effectively ending the conversation.

It seemed to make the pretty blonde even more angry, before she seemingly remembered what she came here for.

I watch on from the corner of my eye as the blonde Original turned back to smile at the blonde boy, greeting him timidly, "Hi. What are you doing?"

The boy's eyes become frustrated once again, large line appearing between his brows as he leveled her with a serious look.

"Well, let's see," he starts with a sigh, "I went to a dance and got my hand crushed, found out I don't have health insurance— so, I just needed some time to myself."

_Life is hard for everybody. Don't date the supernatural if you're not ready for the consequences._

The girl Mikaelson looks resolute, not hurt at all— but, you could definitely see it in her eyes. It was as if she was used to rejection.

The Original attempts to lighten the conversation up, offering with a soft, sweet smile, "Well, I thought maybe I could buy you an apology drink."

No dice. The blond's eyes are hard on the Original's as he finally snaps, "Maybe you could just leave me alone."

_Ouch._

"Look," she softly tries to soothe— but, I can tell that it's coming at the price of her pride, "I'm- I'm really sorry about Kol. He's a lunatic."

_He crushed his wrist? What did the blond kid do?_

The blond is not having any of it, and I feel a spike of annoyance at the boy when he coldly replies, "Look, Rebekah, you're really fun, and pretty, and all— but, I _really _need you to leave me alone."

_Ah, that's why. The kid didn't have enough balls to date an Original if he couldn't handle a flimsy broken wrist._

And with that, the blond boy walks away, leaving a pretty girl heartbroken at the end of a bar.

_I'm glad I didn't fix him._

Sliding my glass further down the bar towards where she still stood, I grab my fur and phone, moving my spot over to where the blond had once been. Blue eyes fiercely glare at me once again as I take my seat, her looking at me confused.

"This seat is taken," she coldly commands, but I can see that she's bothered still by what the blond said.

"By _me,_ Rebekah," I correct with a smile, knowing all too well what it felt like to be told you weren't worth it by a man. "Besides, that boy was a pansy. I'm much better."

A scoff leaves her, and I'm once again struck by the thought of just how _fun _the other Mikaelson siblings were.

Rebekah's mannerisms and reactions were all so open, and honest. She didn't hide that she didn't trust me at all, it was clear in her pretty blue gaze, but she still took the seat besides me.

Blue eyes puzzled, she moves to say something— but she's interrupted by a male voice behind her.

_"Burn."_

_Oh joy, we have a comedian._

Narrowing my gaze behind her smooth shoulders, I spot a vampire leaning against the bar.

He's awful pretty; big blue eyes, black hair, strong jaw, and a leather jacket— but, it's obvious that he's aware of it, firmly emanating a 'bad boy romance' vibe.

He was my least favorite thing: a _cliché._

"You know him?" I ask, silently wanting her to say she didn't so that he could fuck off.

"Unfortunately," Rebekah coolly replies, spinning to face the handsome vampire to my annoyance.

"Rejected by the Captain of the football team," the handsome man continues without provocation, and I spot a large, almost-empty bottle of bourbon in his hand.

_Great. A walking vampire joke. _

"Welcome to adolescence," said vampire asshat finishes, slumping into the other stool besides Rebekah, and subsequently making my green eyes narrow further.

_Ew._

"Shut _up,_ Damon," Rebekah snides, unamused. "Knew I should've killed him. Mother wouldn't let me."

Chuckling at her pouting face, and overall finding the entire scenario with her rather adorable, I ponder aloud, "Surprised you let that stop you. You don't seem like the type to enjoy people telling you what to do."

Rebekah zeroes in on me with an equally intrigued and suspicious look in her pretty doll blue eyes, clearly trying to see what angle I was working by being nice to her.

Smart, but sad that she thought I had to be doing something dirty just to be nice to her.

Rebekah Mikaelson was unfolding as someone much more interesting than I had given her credit for.

Apparently, 'Damon' has just noticed me, obviously checking me out before squinting in faux-confusion, "Do I know you?"

"Let's hope not," I reply nonchalantly, moving to grab my things as Rebekah watches me curiously.

"You're leaving?" She asks with a raise of her brow.

_She cares?_

Downing the rest of my drink in a fiery gulp, I lick my lips of any remaining alcohol before smiling down at her.

"You want me to stay?" I quip back, playfully, and I can see when the 'bitch' shell begins to peel away a bit; her forced blank expression turning into an amused scoff.

"Not on your life," Rebekah Mikaelson answers vehemently, and I forget all about Damon for a moment when she derisively gives me a pretty smile back.

Laughing out loud for the first time all evening purely because it was funny, I make a mental note to try a bit to keep the Mikaelsons alive.

The youngers were just **so** much more entertaining.

Feeling a buzz in my pocket, I realize that Darius must've already found the bloodline Mama Original was gonna use.

I give Damon a passing glance, curious as to how these two knew each other. His vampire aura wasn't that strong, so he couldn't have been _that _old— nowhere near close to Mikaelson aura.

_He talked to her way too comfortably to be a Mikaelson lackey. Maybe they're closer?_

The immediate next thought that hits me also manages to slightly surprise me as I walk out of the Mystic Grill back towards the Rolls Royce.

_I hope not._

—————

Klaus' POV

—————

Of course, nothing could go right.

Saying he was furious was an understatement, the hybrid blood in his veins pumping hard as he sped to the alley behind the Mystic Grill, ready to tear apart both of the Salvatores for what they had done to Kol.

He could still feel that piercing in his chest, an explosion of fiery pain that spread down his spine; spreading paranoia, anxiety— and as much as he hated it— _fear_ with it.

Klaus was definitely feeling like he should've just killed Damon Salvatore for his indiscretions the evening prior as he spotted the Salvatores and that insipid history teacher with his brother's desiccated form.

Rage pumping in his long-violent veins, he tossed Alaric into a wall with about as much effort as it took to toss a garbage bag, pulling the stake out of his brother. Stefan attempted to charge at him, but a firm twist of his wrist had Stefan flying, too.

Klaus attempted to not let the overwhelming sense of betrayal fill him at Stefan's participation, knowing that it was pointless at the moment, that he had long ago lost that friend in the twenties.

His _real_ problem was the idiotic vampire brother in front of him.

Facing Damon with a blank face, his stormy blue eyes clearly displayed the murderous rage that Klaus was currently succumbing to.

"I should've killed you _months _ago," the hybrid growled lowly, threat clear and present in his British accent.

The cocky Salvatore scoffs, "Do it. That's not gonna stop Esther from killing you."

Klaus froze.

_What?_

It all began to line up for him, a horrible trail of dominoes all in a row, all displaying his own mother's betrayal.

_"What did you say about my mother?"_ Klaus snarled as he closed in on the vampire, in no mood for Damon's word games.

Damon boldly continued, "You didn't know I was friends with your mummy? Yeah, we have a lot in common. She _hates_ you as much as I do."

Klaus can't cool his ever-increasing temper, nearly rushing at the fool for saying such a thing, when a familiar voice calls out from above.

"Leave him!" Elijah called down, giving the hybrid a brief, _annoyed _pause.

Sharply turning to face his brother for some kind of explanation before he gets really angry, Klaus is slightly glad that his brother is quick to answer.

"We still need him, Niklaus."

Klaus clenched his jaw stiffly, taking a couple steps before asking the golden question in an uncharacteristically calm voice.

"What did mother do? _What did she do, Elijah?"_ Klaus asked.

Elijah proceeded to walk down the steps to the alley, elegantly pulling something from within his suit lining; a grim look on his strong jaw. He bypassed Klaus, to the hybrid's brief confusion, instead walking straight up to Damon with the object in hand.

_Elena Gilbert's vervain necklace._

"You tell me where the witches are, or I'll have my sister kill Elena right now," Klaus' elder brother threatened, giving the hybrid a slight feeling of relief.

_He wasn't alone in this._

Damon looks confused for some reason, as if something should've prevented Elijah from doing so. The leather-jacketed baby vampire glanced up at the town clock tower, complaining, "You told me we had until after nine."

Elijah is nonplussed, quickly answering, "I'm sure Rebekah'd be more than happy to start her work early."

Klaus admitted to himself that the familiar look of a defeated Salvatore had to be one of his favorite faces to see.

—————

Sloane's POV

—————

Lighting my cigar in the dim shadows of the witch's house, I had to admit— I really do admire how much history is here.

Albeit, I wasn't in the _best _part of the home to make that comment— just waiting in the basement.

It wasn't too hard to threaten the ghostly witches' home so that they'd keep their ever-gossiping mouths shut to the Bennett witches that were on their way here. Goodness knows, those spirits don't have anywhere else to commune, especially since they were excommunicated in the early 1400s from the Carmichael Coven.

And that's specifically what made this place hard to find.

See, it had taken me quite some time to locate this place, having visited quite a few other places that oozed magic in this town, first.

Seriously, it was ridiculous how much supernatural energy is _in _this town. It's like a more boring version of New Orleans.

But, nuance— Darius had gotten the name in the nick of time, but they weren't home when I stopped by. So, now, I was waiting here in the most reasonable spot, to see if perhaps Esther was attempting to strengthen whatever spell by having all Bennett witches, living _and _dead, powering it.

Turned out, as always, I was right.

There were creaks on the wood flooring above— but, they suddenly vanished, sending the house back into silence briefly. _Vampires. Two. _I can sense them as they blur down the stairs, only to spot me there.

Spotting Damon Salvatore, a smirk spreads across my face as they freeze, spotting my burning cigar in the darkness as I blow another puff.

Leaning forward, I smirk evilly at the annoying drunk asshole from last night as his blue eyes widen in realization.

"Oh. I was wondering who that could be. Boy, am I _glad _it's you two."

———

Well, both vampires were now perfectly incapacitated with continued neck-snapping every ten minutes or so.

_And_ I might've hexed Damon with his worst possible nightmare— but what can I say?

I was feeling _gracious_ today.

_Maybe I'll kill him after I'm done with Mama Mikaelson._

Suddenly, there's footsteps falling throughout the old hut, much lighter— so women. _Perfect. _Most likely it was the Bennett witches, sensing a powerful magic in one, and about the normal amount in the other. They were mother and daughter, right? Abby and Bonnie Bennett.

_Well, that made it much easier to decide, then._

I heard female voices calling out to each other in the decrepit shack, footsteps descending into the basement— with me. The first Bennett comes down the stairs, and she's _very _young, but that's where the major power source is.

Humming thoughtfully in the darkness, the young Bonnie Bennett spins around to face my seat in the corner, Stefan and Damon's bodies parked beside me. I analyze her curiously, noting her terrified green eyes in particular. Bonnie is frozen, looking at the two vampire bodies in shock.

_Oh, she knows them. This just keeps getting better._

"Hello, Bennetts," I greet politely with a smile, and the witch watches me with frightened, suspicious eyes as her mother descends down the staircase to her.

Abby seems to know _just _who I am, pretty brown eyes widening in terror as she pulled her daughter behind her.

_Like that would save her?_

It almost makes me laugh.

"Oh, good," I sigh faux-primly, "You've heard of me— so, we can skip past introductions, and just get to the point. Which one of you is the binder for Mama Original's spell?"

One of them had to be the direct link; one that was the plug that allowed Mama Mikaelson to channel the entire line.

When I don't get an immediate answer, only scared and angry looks back, I roll my eyes and try to think.

Bonnie's magic flares aggressively towards me, attempting to take me out, but I shove my magic twice as hard back. The resulting effect was Bonnie Bennett being launched back into a few dusty shelves swathed in my magic's aura.

Abby shrieks, immediately racing to assist her knocked out daughter when I stand from my seat, firmly decided.

I doubted that Abby would let her own daughter take on the duty of carrying this spell alone— especially judging by the affectionate way she fussed over the unconscious witch.

Therefore, getting rid of Abby was the most effective method of ensuring that the Original Bitch couldn't continue to leech off of their bloodline whether or not they were both the plug.

"It's just business, Abby."

Abby Bennett's brown eyes widen in fear before I quickly put her out of her misery, snapping her neck sharply with a twist of my wrist.

There's a sudden downshift in magical energy off to the west of the shack, and I smile.

—————

Third Person POV

—————

The three Mikaelson brothers stood, united by a cause for the first time in a very long time.

Across the fire, their own mother stood with their traitorous brother, both pairs of eyes bitter and cold. They both stood within the confines of a large salt pentacle drawn in the earth, five torches glowing brilliantly in the dark night.

Kol was the first to snide, "That's _lovely._ We're stuck out here while the favorite son plays _sacrificial lamb._ How _pathetic _you are, Finn."

"Be quiet, Kol," Esther snapped, anger filling her at her children's own willful ignorance, "Your brother knows virtue you cannot even imagine."

Elijah was beside himself on the hateful woman in front of him. _Was this truly their mother?_

He had fervently prayed that it wasn't, but what to think now?

"Whatever you think of us," Elijah finally states, dark gaze leveled heavily at his own mother, "Killing your own children would be an atrocity."

Esther remained cold, "My only regret is that I did not let you die a thousand years ago."

The three Mikaelson brothers all struggled to keep their composure at that, an old pain resurfacing for Elijah Mikaelson. Anyone would be hurt after hearing that from the woman who had given them life.

"Enough. All this talk is boring me," Klaus interrupted, not in the mood for conversation when he was angry at himself for not trusting his suspicions. "End this _now,_ mother— or, I'll send you back to hell."

His mother would die once again for her treachery, and the same for Finn.

Esther couldn't stop the tears from welling up in her eyes if she tried her damnedest, walking closer to the edge of the circle, to her son. Her poor, sweet Niklaus was long gone.

"For a thousand years, I've been forced to watch you. Felt the pain of every victim; suffered while you shed blood," Esther firmly reprimanded, not wanting to tolerate such disrespect from her sons.

Her gaze then wandered to Elijah, "Even you, Elijah, with your claim to nobility— you're no better."

Then, her eyes turned hard as she glared at each of her lost sons with something akin to hate, "_All of you..._ you're a curse on this earth stretched out over generations. If you've come to plead for your life, I'm sorry. _You've_ _wasted your time."_

Suddenly, the witch's eyes closed, terror filling her face as she felt the first vestiges of the Bennett bloodline's magic slipping away.

The flames of the totems flared violently skyward, magic draining in rapid succession from the circle.

"No! _Sisters, do not abandon me!" _Esther cried skyward, but the magic continued to funnel away.

"Mother!" Finn shouted, desperate to save his beloved mother as he wrapped his arms firmly around her prepared to make a quick escape from the ire of his brothers.

The Mikaelson brothers all three turned away from the increasing brightness of the inferno from the torches— when it all went dark. The fires had completely dissipated, and the three brothers blinked their eyes open after a few moments to reveal quite a sight.

Finn and Esther were both collapsed on the earth— breathing deeply in an unconscious state— but that wasn't the surprise.

No, the surprise was the one and only, Sloane Carmichael, smirking at all three as her stiletto toe lightly kicked the limp Finn Mikaelson's arm, as if ensuring he was down for the count.

Bright green eyes bold and intelligent gave each brother a good check out from the bottom of their shoes up, before a laugh left her.

"What a _bitch. _Seriously,_ yikes_," Sloane scoffed at the two unconscious bodies below her, basking in not only victory, but also just how pathetic of an escape attempt that was— before turning to face Klaus Mikaelson in particular.

Sloane's smile turns positively _sinful._

"Is this the part where I say _'you're welcome?'_ I never can quite time it right."

**—————**

**A/n: Heyo, hope you enjoyed the latest chapter. Seriously, all the comments have been super motivating for me to pump more chapters out, so thanks!**

**Stay safe, wash your hands, and I hope this was a nice distraction from how crazy the world is right now.**

**—————**


	6. Six

"I am fire— if you want something salty and sweet, with no opinion, I am not the woman for you. I spit flames, often."

— Janne Robinson, _This Is For The Women Who Don't Give A Fuck_

—————

**Chapter Six:**

**Playing Games**

—————

Sloane's POV

—————

A few moments pass, all four of us standing around this dark, damp forest with two unconscious people on the floor— and I quickly get bored.

"Guess not," I hum, spinning on my heel to head back to the center of the salt circle.

I feel their gazes on me as I walk, definitely predatory in nature. It's a unique feeling to not want to turn my back on someone, and it thrilled me irrevocably. I didn't come across too many characters that could actually deal some damage to me, but three Originals would most likely do the trick.

It isn't even as if I really want to fight them— no, that wasn't the case at all.

_I just really like being chased._

Sighing before clicking my teeth, I shake my head derisively at the three handsome Original brothers.

They each wear different expressions as I do so, and I find myself once again curious about them. A small part of me was interested in learning more about the ghosts in my mother's bedtime stories, and the more I saw them with my own eyes, the more I found that the Mikaelson family truly _was _a special breed.

_Not to mention, they weren't half bad to look at either._

Kol's eyes— oddly enough, resemble coal. Dark, dangerous, and generally harmful to its environment.

It's not so much that he watches me like he wants to kill— or even eat me; more so along the lines that he's entertained by me, like a bored child seeing the promise of a new shiny toy in the store window. There's a wicked smirk on his face, promising all _sorts _of bad things.

He's like Puck._ Mischievous._

The elder brother, Elijah, however, seems almost stunned.

I always wondered what it would take to surprise an immortal being— one who had stood the test of time for many lifetimes— but, I never thought it would require something so little in effort.

All I did was knock their mother and brother out before they could escape. Nothing very big, but he was looking at me like I was the surprise birthday party he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to attend.

_How funny._

And of course, there was the indomitable Klaus Mikaelson, glaring at me something _fierce_.

I can tell by the way his jaw clenches that he's not happy with this outcome at all— he was angry that it was _me _who saved their asses. There's an unreadable swirl of emotions in his eyes, a hurricane; it's oddly fitting. But, most important to note was the one thing I saw in _his _gaze that was not in the other Mikaelsons'.

A different sort of feral glimmer lingered there, the kind that said that Klaus Mikaelson would thoroughly tear someone apart with his teeth. Unlike his siblings, I could definitely feel the overwhelming amount of werewolf instinct that lingered

It was ancient, cautious, violent, and most importantly, _captivating._

If I could describe the expression on the Original Hybrid's face, it would be: '_a bizarre amalgamation of incredibly suspicious and annoyed, all wrapped up in a big, **angry** bow.'_

It's hard to describe the rush of pleasure I feel settle deep in my bones at being able to see him eat crow. But, there was no time for me to goof off while perusing the visual candy that was the Mikaelson brothers; I had a bed to get back to.

"Alright. Well, if that'll be all, gentlemen?" I ask playfully with a quirk of my brow, not waiting for their answers before I turn on my heel to go walk back in the forest.

An aching tiredness was beginning to spread through my body, and I was beyond ready to take a shower and get some sleep. I manage to get past Mama and Baby Original— when suddenly I have a face full of Klaus Mikaelson in front of me; nearly running into the tall hybrid before I caught myself.

Turns out, Originals are _significantly _faster than the average vampire. I didn't even hear a gust of wind this time.

_Fascinating, but annoying._

Not budging from my spot standing in the dirt despite having the hybrid _very_ much in my personal space, I face down that ever swirling storm in his blue eyes without a trace of concern.

A challenging smirk curling along the edges of my full lips, I don't budge or flinch from my spot, already knowing that this was a dominance game. If he thought he could bully me into submission, he would lose right along with everyone else who ever tried.

Never bowed to a man's whims before, and I wasn't going to take up the habit now.

If Klaus wanted a fight, he could damn sure have one—

_Wait, no. _

_Focus. Klaus Mikaelson isn't my_ _current __problem;_ _he's my __**solution.**_

Taking an inhale to soothe the competitiveness that the hybrid brought out in me, I refocus on my plan, knowing that I can't stay here much longer. It would completely throw off the little bit of knowledge that I could use while dealing with the Mikaelsons.

"Leaving the party already?" Klaus asks, intimidation practically oozing out of him.

"Oh, you don't want little old _me_ to spoil Mikaelson festivities. This _backwater witch_ needs to get back to her hotel," I snide back at Klaus with a sugar-sweet smile, vastly enjoying when I see him recall the insult he had spoken to me just the night before.

And, that's when there's a shift in his expression.

There's a flare of _something_ in his gaze— something that makes my throat feel tight for an entirely different reason. It's almost like he's accepted some sort of unspoken challenge, and my breath comes out with a bit more effort at the sheer intensity of how he was staring at me. I felt like a pinned butterfly on someone's cork board.

_I need to leave._

Summoning my magic from within, I allow it to swell around my being just as it had before when I had appeared in this field. The hybrid's awareness sharpens significantly, him reaching out to grab me before I can do anything— but his hands swipe through me as if I was part of the air, itself.

Watching realization dawn on his pretty blond head as to what is about to happen, Klaus' hybrid eyes come back out to play, veins descending underneath fascinating amber pools.

And, before the red smoke completely blinds both him and I from each other, I shoot the furious hybrid a wink— vanishing into thin air a moment after.

—————

I was waiting now.

See, I had thought long and hard about how to get the Mikaelsons to trust me enough to accept my offer— and the answer was to ask for nothing in return for knocking out their mom and brother.

They were a family of paranoia, just as the stories had said, and if they didn't have a clean cut answer as to _why_ I saved them— I had no doubt at least one of them would look into why I'm still in this shit town.

It was obvious in the three brother's distrustful stares when I appeared in that damp forest, they thought I had ulterior motives for taking their mother out.

I had already tried telling Klaus directly what I was here for— albeit, I stretched the truth slightly— but, it was clear that the Mikaelson siblings were as paranoid as I am. They needed to discover for themselves that I didn't have ill intent.

And, I didn't.

Or at least, not really.

Anyway, predators don't come to a trap without bait; so, I'd use their own paranoia against them to get what I wanted. If they wanted answers they'd have to come and find me at the only hotel in Mystic Falls.

Obviously, I'm working for the long-term here.

I want the Mikaelsons to wholeheartedly agree to my offer. But, that can't happen unless they trust me, which would take way too much time to gain if I tried to do it the easy way: working with them for god knows how long.

So, I had to keep charging like a bull until they bent.

A firm ball of anxiety that had settled into my abdomen two years ago twisted once again, tightly, at the thought of what should happen if I fail. I was running out of time, so I needed to use all of it as effectively as possible.

The wind transfer back home had been easy-peasy, no violent outbursts, or crazy witches back to life and ready for round two.

Just me, the hotel room shower, and the queen mattress that has been singing to me like a siren's song.

Tired muscles aching, particularly in my thighs from how much running around I've had to do today, I slowly strip off my overcoat, hurling it onto the nearest corner chair. I make my way to the shower, lazily tossing my clothing off as I go, and not particularly caring how or where they landed. Cheap white tile covers nearly every surface in the bathroom area, and I'm vaguely reminded of that little house on Guerrero Street from so long ago.

With that comes a rush of bitter feelings and memories; so, I stash that box deep inside my psyche, hopefully to never be seen again.

But, I knew it would come back— it always did.

Shaking the rather depressing thought off, I grab my Glock from the bathroom counter, placing it on the back of the toilet for easy access, just in case, before I turn the shower on to as cold as physically possible. I'm so tired that I don't really remember climbing under the downpour of ice-cold water, but the bone-chilling liquid quickly snaps me out of my sleepy spell, allowing my thoughts to wander a bit.

_The Mikaelson's actual dispositions were a pleasant surprise._

I didn't think I particularly disliked any of them outside of their mother and brother, and that was surprising. My dislike is very easily earned, so it was odd to find that all four of the Mikaelson siblings were not on my shit list despite their mouthing off at the ball.

_No, not even Klaus._

I found our _particular_ brand of pissing contests to be very entertaining thus far. The Original Hybrid managed simultaneously piss me off, while amusing me with how vicious his come backs were. It would knock anyone off kilter if they simultaneously wanted to smack someone but also keep watching the person's reactions.

Yes, I'm aware that I have issues.

Sighing as I reach to rinse off the soap on my body, I frown when I hear a slight creak reverberate around the hotel room.

_... Well, that was quick._

I don't turn off the water, instead slowly slinking out of the frigid spray and silently grabbing the Glock. My hands are damp, and I feel every pore in my body vibrate at how cold the air feels on my skin.

Taking a slow breath through my lips, I wrap a cheap white towel around my naked body. Securing it with my hand before tucking my gun between my lips, I use my now free other hand to slowly twist the bathroom door handle.

Thankfully, this seems to be one of the few things this shitty hotel has replaced in the last ten years— because, it didn't squeak like I worried it might.

_Everything is turning up Sloane._

I slowly step into the short carpet hallway, quickly moving my finger, switching off the safety, and spinning to point the muzzle at whoever's in my room— only to find no one there.

Brows furrowing, I narrow my gaze around the room, looking for any sign of a break-in from the window.

But there's nothing obvious— or even _subtle— _out of place, until my magic finally picks up on a powerful aura in the room.

Suddenly, a gust of wind is at my back, quickly followed by a brutal slam against the wall, which results in my head hammering it as well.

There are strong fingers wrapped tightly around my throat— and, _god_, my heart is pounding for the first time in a long time. A delightful sort of anxiety floods my veins as I blink at those now familiar stormy blue eyes, trying my hardest to maintain my composure.

There's a glint of victory— of _dominance_ in his blue gaze as he smirks darkly down at me.

"Now, surely you didn't think it would be _that_ easy, did you?" Klaus asks wickedly, taunting me.

Once again, I'm struck by the desire to simultaneously strike him down the same way I did his mother while also wanting to laugh. He did find me rather quickly, but this _was _the only hotel in Mystic Falls, so I didn't want to give him too much credit.

Especially since I spoon fed him that information.

"Hello, Wolfman," I greet lightly, and Klaus' long fingers apply more pressure at the slight as his blue eyes flare angrily.

_Were blue eyes always so distracting?_

This was turning out to be a very risky game.

_Luckily, I have a gambler's soul._

Gritting my teeth a bit, I lick my dry lips before finally smirking back at him, "Is this your thing or something? I mean it's not that niche, but I didn't think you were the choking kind of man."

An involuntary shiver runs up my spine when he lowly threatens in that precious accent, "I lean more towards ripping hearts out of rib cages. I'd be more than happy to demonstrate if you don't answer my questions."

"Hard to do that when you're choking me, Klaus," I grit out after a moment, air entering my lungs at a much more strained pace because of the iron grip around my throat.

A small scoff leaves his smirking lips before the smile suddenly drops entirely.

"Allow me to make this clear to you, _little witch._ If you try to escape, I will rip your head off and mount it on my wall," Klaus states darkly, and I know he means every word.

I feel a tightness in my chest, adrenaline pumping and ready for something— hell, _anything_ to happen.

But, that's not the plan. I need to stay focused.

"Yes, I'm sure you'll get all your answers with me dead," I hum, fighting off the smile that's itching to come to the surface.

His hands roughly peel off of my neck, allowing for my first full breath of air since I first heard the creak out here.

_Speaking of which..._

Setting the Glock's safety back on, I toss it onto the bed before walking to sit on the bedside couch. My legs cross as I readjust the towel to look classy again. I almost don't know for sure— but, I could've sworn I saw his gaze roam them for a split second.

_Ha._

The small quirk of my lips is yet another thing in the last five minutes that I couldn't fight off, grabbing my glass of old water from besides the bed and soothing my dry throat before sighing, "Ask away. Not many people get to, you know?"

Acting as if he's had an epiphany, Klaus pierces me with a fierce stare down as he slowly stalked closer to where I'm sitting.

"Ah, yes. Which brings me to my first question. See, I haven't seen a Carmichael in over a hundred years— and there was _nothing_ special about that bunch. I'm curious as to how an average witch bloodline somehow procured an heir that is powerful enough to incapacitate the Original Witch."

Chuckling, I wave my hand, batting the stupid question that he's not getting an answer to away.

"Bullshit. You want to know if I'm trying to take down your family just like Mama Witch tried to," I correct, noting the sharp glare that Klaus shoots my way after.

_Ding ding! We have a winner._

Shivering slightly at the cool air conditioning on my bare shoulders and legs, I start shaking my head.

"You already know the answer to that. The only Mikaelsons I have a problem with are your mother and whatever-his-name-is; so, don't worry. You, Elijah, Rebekah, and Kol are all safe from the scary backwater witch. I just wanna talk business."

Pausing briefly when I see the continued disbelief on his handsome face, I add after a beat, "If I wanted you all dead, I could've just waited until Mama Mikaelson did in the majority of you, and then finished her off myself after. I'm a patient woman, Klaus. I'd have no problem waiting."

There's a beat of surprise in his gaze, his own suspicion of me not allowing him to see the situation clearly: me wanting to harm his family didn't make any sense.

Klaus is definitely still irritated judging by the small throbbing vein in his forehead, but his body language was a lot more relaxed and open. It seems that he might be a bit more receptive after everything that has occurred this evening.

"What are you here for?" Klaus snaps accusingly, getting angry that he couldn't decipher what my intentions were.

A smile spreads across my face, an infinitely more genuine one— but before I can get a word out, I can feel a burn start at the center of my spine. A fiery pain that began to spread through my nerve endings like someone poured acid directly on them swept all of my attention away, making my breath catch.

No one ever really tells you about just how much pain a person can experience. It's always a surprise to people when they hurt themselves significantly that there's a new facet of pain that they weren't aware of.

The burning wasn't a new sensation, but the dramatic increase in just how _agonizing _it felt this time around was more than enough to stun me into silence.

Klaus' blue eyes widen in surprise when a choked gasp leaves me. The hybrid turns back to face me when I collapse on the floor— but, it's hard to notice it, now.

The pain is increasing dramatically; the toll for using that amount of magic while knocking out two Originals.

Gritting my teeth so hard it feels like they'll shatter before the ache ends, it's so very, very hard to think past the inferno raging on my spine— but I do. I cling desperately to a vision of curly brown hair and big green eyes, hoping it'll help me retain consciousness as the burn presses in.

My muscles are all tensing uncontrollably, as if my body finding the perfect position would end the agony.

It wouldn't.

A brutal groan ripped straight from the deepest parts of me leaves my mouth, completely blinded by the ever increasing temperature that was spreading throughout my very bones.

_I had no idea it would be this bad. _

_Klaus could kill me while I'm down._

A new sort of panic fills me at that; a fear of not accomplishing what I'd set out to do before my end gripping the very edges of my conscious thought.

And, that's when I lose consciousness.

—————

Klaus' POV

—————

Sloane Carmichael had proven herself to be more of a pest than Klaus Mikaelson had thought.

Not only had she escaped his clutches within those insipid woods— she had _smiled_ when she did; and _that_ in and of itself was vexing the hybrid's nerves more so than anything else. She also seemed to constantly have something to say, knowing exactly the words to provoke a legendary temper.

He briefly remembered their first encounter.

_Sloane hummed, her eyes bright and suggestive on his own. _

_"I can be real sweet when I wanna be, Klaus. And lucky for you, I have a whole lot to be sweet on you for."_

The tricky little witch was bold— _too_ bold.

She didn't seem to care that Klaus could very easily rip out her spine, or whatever else he could do to her. Sloane had the eyes of someone who didn't fear death, not to mention anything else that walked this earth. Her mouth reflected that attitude.

Klaus could feel his irritation soaring at the situation as he stood there in that forest, his brothers silent as the remnants of the red smoke faded away, and with it, Sloane Carmichael.

_Witches. The whole lot could **burn** for all I care, _Klaus furiously thought to himself as his fury began to take on a much more physical shape.

Veins descending as yellow colored his irises, an irate growl left his lips at having _another _threat escape his grasp. Katerina, Esther _almost, _and the woman who stopped Esther.

It was immensely grating to the hybrid's pride, even if he would never admit it to himself.

_"Find her," _the hybrid snapped at his elder brother before stalking off into the woods to go find the witch, not bothering with correcting the amused smirk on Kol's face.

—————

Well, Klaus had been the first to locate her after remembering her annoying little prattle about needing to sleep in her hotel room.

It was late, it was obvious that the Carmichael witch hadn't gone far— but _why?_

In fact, he found it rather convenient that she even mentioned it.

The paranoia that had thrived over a thousand years was once again proven true when the witch rounded out of the bathroom, ready with a gun in her confident hands— completely unaware that the hybrid was behind her.

Of course, that had been quickly rectified after a few choice threats Klaus made towards the pretty witch.

And then, Sloane collapsed.

The bronzed woman collapsed off of the couch, clutching her towel tight enough for Klaus to hear several of the intertwined threads snapping from the force of it.

Having landed on her front, the hybrid walked over slowly, trying to assess whether or not she was faking to get him to let her guard down. Her wet dark waves were scattered haphazardly across her face, back, and shoulders as her body began to convulse; a red smoke beginning to form from underneath the wet hair on her back.

Eyeing her curiously, the hybrid quickly bent down to move the hair away; trying to find what the source was, or whether the sneaky little witch was just trying to escape again.

_If she was, he'd tear her head clean off. _

And, that's when he finally noticed it— the smell of burning flesh.

A shout of pain tears it's way from her throat when he finally spots what lies between her shoulder blades, when he realizes exactly what is the cause of the smell.

His thick brows settled into a firm line as his gaze roamed over the blood red lines of bubbling skin that curled outwards from her spine, as if a sigil was slowly burning its way throughout the rest of her back.

Sloane suddenly stops twitching.

Instead, Klaus hears the slow breaths of a deep sleep start to leave her, the witch's racing heart slowly returning back to it's normal, slow beat.

"Well," Klaus hummed to himself as a small, cruel smirk took over his face, a plan quickly falling into place in his intelligent mind, "Aren't you an _interesting_ little backwater witch."

—————


End file.
